


Better Left Unsaid

by darlingargents



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Pre-IT Chapter Two (2019), Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: As usual, Richie gets the room key at the front desk, asking for Kaspbrak.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 28
Kudos: 173
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Better Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liesmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/gifts).



As usual, Richie gets the room key at the front desk, asking for Kaspbrak. It’s a nice hotel, polished and upscale, and he doesn’t want to know how much it costs per night.

He always wonders, on the ride up the elevator, if the desk staff know. What he’s doing. Why they’re meeting. Probably not.

When he swipes the card and steps into the room, he knows Eddie isn’t there yet. Richie’s a bit early; he’s still on his way from work. Richie drops his jacket on the desk and collapses on the bed.

His phone buzzes a couple minutes later, when he’s helping himself to a minibar snack.  _ Check the box I had sent up. _

He sends back a thumbs-up and a heart, and goes to look for the box. It’s unassuming cardboard, sealed with string like some old-timey kid’s Christmas present. He unties the strings and opens it.

Ropes. Hooks. He searches for toys, and doesn’t find anything but a bottle of lube and a note.  _ Open yourself up for me. _

The words go straight to Richie’s dick. He drops it and pulls off the rest of his clothes unceremoniously, tossing them onto the dresser. He lays himself out on the bed, pours some of the lube onto his fingers, and starts to work them inside him. It’s been a while since they’ve had time to fuck, or really do anything but the occasional blowjob — he’s missed the stretch, the feeling of something inside him. He slides his fingers in and out, stretching himself wider.

Maybe fifteen minutes later — as his wrist is starting to cramp up and he’s considering checking his Instagram — the door buzzes and opens. A moment later Eddie appears, still in his work suit, hair slicked back, phone and briefcase in his hands.

He looks at Richie for a long moment, clearly savouring, and smiles.

* * *

Richie loves watching Eddie do this, the deft movement of his fingers as he ties the knots, to hold him secure in place. His tongue pokes out of his mouth a little as he concentrates, weaving the rope together and pulling Richie’s wrists into place. It’s almost adorable.

He ties off the last knot on Richie’s right hand and moves back.

“Pull,” he says, and Richie does, tugging on them. His hands hardly move.

“Good.” Eddie’s eyes sweep up and down his body. “I’m going to finger you now.”

Richie’s dick, still half-hard, wakes up a little at that. Eddie drizzles the lube onto his fingers and tosses the bottle aside before kneeling between Richie’s legs and reaching down to slide in one finger, and then another, into his already-stretched hole.

This isn’t new, none of this — it’s not something they do every time they see each other, because they’re both busy people and sometimes they’re tired, even though they’re making time to meet. Sometimes Eddie just wants to watch him jerk off and finger himself. Or Eddie pins him to the wall as soon as the door closes, fucking him against the wall or over the desk, frantic and desperate and leaving bruises on Richie’s hips. Or sometimes Eddie wants to get fucked, and Richie gets to see that look on his face when he loses control, when he sinks down onto Richie’s cock and lets out a gasp that punches him in the gut with feelings he doesn’t know what to do with.

...the point is, it’s not new. But Richie has never gotten tired of it. The feeling of Eddie stretching him open, the uncomfortable-pleasurable feeling of his arms pulled just a little too far to stop paying attention to them. The look of focus on Eddie’s face as he slides his fingers in and out of Richie’s hole.

“So good,” he murmurs, “so good for me,” and this isn’t new, either, the praising, but it still makes Richie closes his eyes, the swooping feeling low in his belly almost too much to handle. Being  _ good _ . It’s all he ever wants to be.

Eddie pulls his fingers out and grabs the lube again, slicking up his cock. He’s already naked — they’re tried doing this with him in a suit, but mutually decided that it wasn’t worth the mess — and they’ve ditched condoms in the last month or so, after a painfully awkward conversation to establish that neither of them were seeing anyone else. (The conversation where Richie could have — should have — should have told him — it doesn’t matter.) Eddie positions himself, and stops.

“Tell me what you want,” Eddie says, and Richie’s cock twitches.

“Want you,” he says, and shifts a little. His wrists can barely move. He’s entirely secure. “You.”

“What do you want from me?” Eddie asks, his voice low and almost sultry, and Richie closes his eyes.

“Want you inside me, please—”

“Yeah. You want that?”

“Please, Eddie, please—”

Eddie slides in, easy and slick, in a single motion, and Richie groans, his hands twitching, desperate to grab something and all the more turned on that he can’t. Eddie’s hands are on either side of him, and his face is so close that Richie could kiss him.

Richie can’t kiss him. He knows that.

Eddie fucks him like he always does: perfectly. The angle of the thrusts feels better with every movement, his teeth occasionally sink into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie proceeds to lose his fucking mind, more and more desperate sounds escaping his mouth with every thrust into him. He closes his eyes and sinks into the feeling and bites his tongue so he doesn’t say something stupid, like,  _ I’d do this for free. I’d wake up every morning next to you and not even fuck you. _

“Are you close?” Eddie grunts into his ear and Richie nods, desperate, as he wraps one hand around his cock and starts jerking him off, timing it with his thrusts.

“Eddie,” he says, “ _ Eddie _ ,” and his hips jerk and he comes, the feeling punching him in the gut as he spurts across his chest and Eddie’s hand. Eddie speeds up his thrusts and a few seconds later he buries himself inside Richie and groans, low and deep, his face buried in Richie’s shoulder, his breath ghosting against Richie’s neck.

Richie never wants him to leave.

Eddie’s hand drifts up to touch Richie’s face as Eddie slowly pulls out and gets himself up. “Good?” he asks, as if it matters, as if he’s not paying Richie to always say yes to that question.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Good.”

He looks down at Richie, considering, and leans down to slide two fingers back inside Richie. The overstimulation is almost too much as he slides his fingers back and forth, through his own come, and Richie has to close his eyes against the tears threatening to slide down his face, his wrists jerking hard against the ropes.

“ _ Eddie _ ,” he gasps, and he’s too goddamn old to go again so fast, but his dick is twitching in interest anyway. Eddie slides his fingers deeper, stretching him out again, and Richie wants to touch him, wants to get closer, wants to say something stupid. He only lets himself say Eddie’s name, over and over, until Eddie looks at him, makes eye contact, and something — not an orgasm, not exactly, but  _ something _ — goes through him. He keeps looking, and he lets himself think, for maybe the first time,  _ I love you _ .

(Something about that feels familiar, in a distant way — it feels like coming home. But he can’t feel that. He shuts it down. Like he always has.)

Eddie’s face seems to close off, and he looks away from Richie as he reaches up to untie him, avoiding his eyes. He unties him quickly, not with the usual slow, seductive care that he employs, and Richie frowns at him as he moves on to Richie’s other hand quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not sure if he should be asking at all. Eddie nods.

“The deposit should be in your account tomorrow,” he says. “Do you want to sleep here, or—”

“Don’t feel like taking an Uber right now,” Richie says. He wants to ask if Eddie is staying. He’s not going to ask. He’s not going to — “You gonna brave the traffic or use the room you paid for?”

Eddie laughs fondly. He’s looking for his phone, probably checking for work texts that he’s missed in the last hour, still naked. He never used to do that. He used to get dressed the second he pulled out. “Might as well, I guess.”

The feeling that Richie gets at that — at thinking about sleeping in the same bed as Eddie, something they’ve done only a handful of times — is dangerous. But it feels so good that he can’t stop himself from smiling almost goofily in Eddie’s direction.

Eddie showers first, and once he leaves the bathroom, a towel around his waist and ringed with steam, Richie goes. He’s not sure what would happen if he tried to climb into the shower with him. He’d probably like it. Whenever Richie initiates something that’s not on their spreadsheets — that he’s not being paid for — Eddie seems to love it.

But he’s still not going to risk it. No matter how good it would feel to step in there, to see Eddie smile at him, to duck down and let Eddie run soap through his hair—

Richie realizes that he’s been staring at the mirror naked for far too long. He leans into the shower and turns it on, the water blasting out hotter and with a lot more pressure than he’s ever gotten in his own apartment.

When he gets out of the bathroom, starting to feel the familiar soreness between his legs — a feeling that a part of him has been craving — Eddie is already in bed, his hair half-dry and messy, reading some interchangeable thriller novel like he always seems to be. Sometimes Richie teases him about it, but today he’s not in the mood; something feels almost delicate between them. He gets in bed, makes sure his phone is plugged in and he hasn’t gotten any urgent texts, and turns off his light.

Eddie goes to put his book down and Richie sits up. “You can read if you want,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He puts in his bookmark, sets the book on the bedside table, and turns off the light. Richie lays back down, on his side, facing Eddie. He can see the outline of his body, illuminated in the thin neon light leaking through the curtains.

A hand brushes gently against Richie’s cheek, and he closes his eyes. He can pretend, for this moment, and this moment only, that this is real — that he can have this. That he isn’t going to wake up and go home to his shitty apartment, alone.

“Good night, Richie,” Eddie says.

Richie closes his eyes, and dreams of bikes. Bikes, running for his life, jumping off a cliff, a broken arm, and a promise. He wakes up gasping at some point in the middle of the night, heart racing, and looks over at Eddie, passed out beside him, one arm flung over his chest.

_ Eddie’s here _ , he thinks, not even sure where the thought is coming from.  _ It’ll be okay. _

When he falls back asleep, he doesn’t dream again.


End file.
